Lindir And The Three Marchwardens
by sylc
Summary: Rúmil works at a Lothlórien tavern part-time. One night, the last patron decides to tell him about his one night stands with Haldir and Orophin. Contains slash and sexual references.


It was almost closing time. Rúmil, who was the only elf still on duty at the Lothlórien tavern, looked around the deserted tables and stools within the wide oval-shaped talan from where he was standing and stacking cups behind the counter. Then he looked at the last patron, an elf who was sitting across from him on the other side of the counter and who appeared to be asleep, slumped face first in a miniature lake of golden wine that gleamed wetly on the polished mallorn wood.

Rúmil exhaled and reached over the counter to prod the elf's arm. Perhaps the other elf was not yet asleep. "Oi…"

He got no further. "I met a marchwarden named Haldir the day before yesterday," the elf suddenly mumbled in a slurred and muffled voice.

"Pardon?" Curious, but also mindful of the lateness of the hour, Rúmil lifted his hand and glanced between it and the other's arm for a few moments before lowering his hand and reaching for a cloth. The lake of wine was bothering him, but so too was the prospect of not hearing what the elf had to say about his eldest brother. He decided to wipe _around_ the elf's head for now.

"A marchwarden by the name of Haldir," the elf repeated.

How was he supposed to respond? Was this a hoax? Surely the elf knew that he, Rúmil, was Haldir's youngest brother. Surely everyone in Lothlórien knew of the three marchwarden brothers? Rúmil pursed his lips and began to dab away at the lake.

He did not need to respond at all. After a while, the elf began speaking again as if he had never stopped to wait for a response at all. "They said he is hung like a man. They are wrong."

Rúmil's brow rose. He dropped the now sodden cloth and reached for another one. He wondered who "they" were.

"They are wrong because he is hung like a cursed bull."

"I… see." Rúmil scanned the bowed head, eyes a little wide. Oh, he knew the elf was speaking somewhat accurately about Haldir's size; his eldest brother's penis _was_ impressively large, but in a conversation with a stranger? In a tavern with Haldir's own brother? In such a disparaging tone?

"I feared the thing would plough straight through me… I swear I could taste his seed at the back of my throat and before you ask, I did not touch it with my lips. But that was not the worst of it. Of all things, he does not seem to know how to read his partner and know when to stop."

"Stop?"

The down faced elf raised a long pale hand and waggled the tapered fingers in a vague gesture in the air. "I mean in bed. He wanted to do it once, twice, thrice, and then it was the ninth time and then the tenth time and, oh Valar, even when I convinced him that it was time to sleep and we lay down to do so, I could still feel the blasted organ digging into my back. Any harder and I would be in the healing talans."

Rúmil politely and more than a little lost for words, decided to say nothing.

"I did not sleep a wink that night," the elf said, lowering his hand, which disappeared back below the counter top from where it had come; assumedly to join its fellow in the elf's lap.

"Hm."

"It was grotesquely coloured. Sort of purple. There was no way I was going to touch that thing with my lips."

Rúmil swallowed and reached out to resume wiping up the rest of the excess liquid with the new cloth.

"It felt awful too. I mean the skin felt especially silky and fragile and… well, it was creepy and purple and swollen and far, far too big."

"Aye."

"He is a lovely person outside the bedroom – a little on the domineering and work-obsessed side, but otherwise very friendly indeed. Very attractive too… without the penis on display."

"That was last night?"

"Oho? Last night? Nay, Haldir was not last night. Haldir was the night _before_ last night. Last night was even worse. Oh, Valar, I feel ill even thinking about last night."

"Worse? Why was last night worse?"

"Oh, I wish I had spent last night with Haldir. Nay, I dismissed Haldir in the morning after our first night together. Nay, nay, nay. Last night came with some elf named Orophin. He was absolutely ghastly!" And here, the elf lifted his forehead a few inches off the counter before bringing it back down with a loud and aggrieved 'thump'. "Ghastly."

Rúmil felt his face twitch a bit with affront at the word being used to describe his second eldest brother. "Ghastly? How?"

"Well, he does not really have a penis. It is so small. So, _so_ small!" The hand reappeared above the counter and the thumb and index fingers widened to indicate a length of no more than two inches. Rúmil pursed his lips sympathetically. He knew. Orophin suffered dreadful insecurities over it.

"Was that all?"

"Oh, Valar, you ask if that is all? Nay, it is not all. Far from it! If it were, I would have been perfectly content with him. I know that the length of a penis is not as important as the way in which it is used, but he seemed hardly able to get it up at all." The hand disappeared back beneath the counter top. "Oh, it was awful. I think Orophin was the worst lay of my life and I have seen a few hundred of them."

Rúmil opened his mouth, realised that he had nothing positive to say, and promptly snapped it shut again. It was very quiet in the tavern. He looked at the door, but no one seemed to be outside or indeed anywhere close. He exhaled softly.

"It just sort of lay there and twitched pathetically… like a cold squashed worm."

"Oh, now that is…" Rúmil intended on calling the observation cruel, accurate or no, but Lindir interrupted him.

"He was cold too. I told him to wear socks, but even when he complied his feet still felt like ice… and he insisted on cuddling me, even when I told him I did not wish for him to do so. He does not listen well at all. Of course, with circulation that poor, it is no wonder he cuddles up and ignores requests that he do otherwise."

Rúmil sighed softly again.

There was a long silence. Then the elf mumbled, "So anyway, I did not get any sleep last night either."

"You must be tired."

"More sexually frustrated than tired, actually," the elf replied. "I had a nap earlier this afternoon… in my own talan."

"May I ask where you live?"

"Oh, in the Great Tree."

"Eh?" Rúmil stared at him, eyes wide. Then realisation dawned. Oh, OH! He understood now. The elf was a guest. Then, on further thought, his brow knit. To his knowledge, there was only one guest currently living in the Great Tree and it was the Head Minstrel of Imladris, Master Lindir. What a surprise. Rúmil stared at the body lying over the counter, recognising its small slender shape at last, and recalling that the face currently pressing into the wet counter top was extremely attractive. He also recalled having discussed Lindir's beauty with his brothers when the three of them had observed the minstrel's arrival at the realm. So apparently his brothers had acted on their inclinations… with ill results. He swallowed and, feeling his face grow hot, put down the cloth and glanced at the door one more time. It was definitely past closing time now.

"Master Lindir? Sir?" he asked, a little hesitantly.

"Call me Lindir."

"Aye, Sir – Lindir, then. It is late. Should I help you back to your talan?"

"Nay, but you may help me to yours," was the response.

Rúmil felt his face grow hotter. He hesitated and for a moment seriously considered accepting the invitation. But then, when the thought occurred to him that perhaps tomorrow would find Lindir telling belittling tales about his own performance in bed to someone else, his resolve hardened. "Nay, though I thank you for the offer and am very flattered. I will take you back to your talan. That is all." He walked around the counter and gently touched Lindir on the shoulder. "Sir… Lindir."

"Please?"

"Nay, Lindir. I cannot accept."

And then Lindir looked up and Rúmil, on catching sight of the handsome and only slightly damp face, felt as if his face had suddenly spontaneously burst into flames and as if all the blood in his head had plunged from his brain to a much lower gathering spot. He swallowed. Hard.

"Please?"

Rúmil did not answer for a time. Then, finally, he swallowed again and ventured, "Do you believe in third time lucky?"

Lindir's eyes widened slightly. Then the elf smiled, rose, placed his hands on Rúmil's shoulders, and leaned in to press their lips together.

The kiss was perfect.

"Well," Lindir said when he pulled back, "from the kiss, at least, you are just right." Then he licked his lips and leaned in to kiss Rúmil again.


End file.
